AN: Mk. Mk. Mk. As per request (see I do read and go with suggestions for the betterment of the tale, particularly when I believe they are right.) I tried to make this a bit longer. It's more or less my finding my groove, trying to be less timid, etc. JavaNut this is for you :) To those people who follow/review/add to favs/ added to their community, it is all appreciated. Thank you thank you thank you. Keep em coming, you awesome people you. AN
Samantha's glorious mansion of playing cards stood an ominous, yet delicate five stories high, quivering with every unguarded breath. It had taken her the better part of six and a half hours to build the damn thing. Most of the wasted time had been spent dealing with fallen levels, or the compromise of the entire structure. Although, if she were truly honest, the majority of the fixing was spent cursing the inanimate objects to the farthest corners of hell. It was starting to get to her, this cabin fever. Grateful though she was of shelter and food, being cooped up indoors all day was beginning to wear on her nerves. Her restlessness was starting to manifest in physical symptoms. She had grown fidgety and anxious twitching nonstop for lengths of time unknown. The silence was continuously broken with rapid tapping. Whether said tapping came from her foot, her nails, or the side of the card was the only excitement during the early half of the day. It could be a little mystery! The newest game from Hasboro: What's that tapping?
She stared at the hard won card formation before her, eyes narrowing in discontent. A little chaos seemed in order. She flicked her middle finger at one of the load bearing cards, finding a fleeting moment's satisfaction in the waterfall of black and red. Sam dropped her head, face first, onto the pile. A hard exhalation blew from her clenched teeth, scattering the cards from beneath her face.
I'm a little acorn brown, sitting on the cold hard grown.
Everybody stepped on me.
That is why I'm cracked you see.
I'm a nut. I'm a nut. I'm nuts. I'm nuts. I'm nuts.
Her imminent madness skipped about her brain in a fiercely irritating fashion, driven hard by the stagnant nature of her current lifestyle. She had considered hazarding a trip outside, but it was a short-lived option. Her hand traveled unconsciously to her abdomen. The bandages no longer bound her, but the memory of their need bled fresh in her mind. No, she could not go out alone. Not yet at any rate. She feared the tip of a blade, more than the madness brought on by her house arrest. She could have an escort in the shape of a devastatingly mouth-watering pair of brothers, but they seemed concerned with damaging her. Which was ridiculous in its own right. They didn't want to risk her getting injured going out, but inside these walls, she was fair game.
Vibrant laughter echoed in the hall just beyond the door. Her ears pricked up at the familiar tones. Murphy's voice calling to her gave her the strength to pop up her head, with all the enthusiasm of chicken that just laid an egg. Her favorite pair of twins was standing in the doorway, beckoning her out.
"It's Saint Patty's day, lass." Connor said peering at her curiously. "Lots of drinking to do."
She hopped out of the chair and bounded to the door, barely bypassing the mattresses on the way.
"Where are we headed?" she asked, positively bouncing with unspent joy. Murphy reached out with his index finger and thumb poised in a pincer position. Sam's eyes crossed as she watched the incoming pinch with concern. A scratchy suction sound came from her forehead, accompanied with a pulling and release of her skin. She uncrossed her eyes in time to see a three of hearts card in his retreating grip. Murph tucked the card into his back pocket and placed a hand on the small of her back to lead her to the elevator.
McGinty's was an Irish pub (of course), not far from where they lived. It's unpretentious atmosphere appealed greatly to her. As it did to many others apparently, judging from the fairly large crowd inside. The second the brothers stepped inside the local patrons swarmed them. Sam lingered just outside the drunken cocoon, unsure of what to do. A celestial brilliance, mostly from the overhead lamps, shown on an empty booth not far from her. As she began to inch her way to the metaphorical life-preserver, an arm reached out through the crowd of bodies. She spied a tattoo of the word "veritas" along the index finger of the hand, before it caught the sleeve of her shirt and pulled her into the mass of bodies. She squished through the barricade, coming face to face with a laughing Connor.
"Where d'ya think yer off to?" he asked her.
"I was just, you know," she said, her voice growing softer with the addition of each new pair of eyes that turned to her with a smug curiosity.
"Ye were just what?" The intensity of his stare along with the ever attentive audience went straight to her cheeks, flushing them a bright, new boiled lobster red. Sam looked over Connor's shoulder to Murphy, hoping for some assistance. He had already made his way to the bar, and was chatting with a large group of folks nearby. Well that was helpful. She wondered casually if all this blushing might be harmful to her health in the long run. Maybe the ridiculous amounts of blood rushing so frequently to her cheeks and neck would weaken a vessel until it burst. She should write a will.
If I am found in a heap with distended pockets of blood in my face, let it be known without a shadow of a doubt, that fault lies with Connor and Murphy MacManus. To prevent such a tragedy from ever occurring again, please require said persons to wear warning signs, informing others of their dangerous weapons: looks, personality, and an overall Irish charm.
"I was just gonna go sit down," she stuttered, desperate to hide from the sea of smirking faces.
"Oi, Connor!" came a shout from the bar. "Come have a drink with us!"
Connor looked over his shoulder at the bar, then back to her in hesitation. She could tell he wanted to go. She hadn't been the only one cooped up in the house. Connor and Murph were too considerate to just go out and leave her at the loft, with work being the obvious exception. Sam smiled at his concern for her.
"You aren't planning on turning down a drink are you? On Saint Patty's Day?" she tsked. Murphy appeared at their side, a beer in each hand.
"Yea go, Conn. I'll be lookin after Sam." The cigarette clamped between his lips bobbed up and down with each word. Without waiting for a reply, Murphy slid an arm over her shoulders and led her away. As they walked, he brought the glass, clasped in the hand that hung from her shoulders, across her face to his lips for a sip. She laughed as his action tucked their faces together, smacking their heads together a bit. When they reached an empty booth, Murphy detached himself from her and set the beers on the table. He scooched into the seat and opened his arms to her. Sam couldn't help laughing again at how absolutely adorable he looked trying to coax her into the booth. Or at how completely unnecessary it was. She gladly claimed her seat next to him.
Sam took a swig of beer, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. When she started to pull her hand away, Murphy's caught it about the wrist and placed it back on his thigh, if a bit further up.
"Cheeky," she muttered under her breath. He smirked into his glass, looking unnecessarily pleased with himself until her hand slid the entire way up and squeezed. He coughed on a mouthful of beer, sending a trail of liquid down his chin and neck. What a golden opportunity. Sam leaned over, kneading a growing lump in his jeans, while she licked the moist trail from his stubbled skin. Murphy reached out to catch the back of her neck, but she quickly dodged his lust laden movements. Her hand, however remained where it was.
"Murphy, it's b-b-b-been a while." They looked up at an elderly gentleman, hovering over their table.
"Oh, hey Doc," he blurted out, trying desperately to show no sign of the terrible goings-on happening under the table.
"Well are ya g-g-g-gonna t-t-t-tell me who this l-l-l-lovely girl is? Fuck! Ass!" Sam blinked at the strange outburst.
"This is Samantha," Murphy gasped, biting back a whimper. "Sam, this is Doc. He owns the bar."
"Oh." She smiled up at him, offering her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir."
He took her hand and shook it gently, "Call me Doc, sweetheart." She nodded letting go of his hand, so that he could return to the bar.
"Tourette's?" Sam asked somewhat rhetorically as she continued to massage Murphy's erection through his jeans. He nodded, his hands clenching the table.
"Merciful God, girl," he breathed into her ear. "Please tell me ya plan on doin somethin about that." She looked quizzically at him.
"Do you mean this?" She asked giving him a quick squeeze. His hand dropped to cover her own, as his hips rocked against her palm.
"Aye," he hissed.
"Not at the moment."
Murphy gritted his teeth at her. "Yer a cruel woman."
She giggled at his frustration and leaned in , "You love it."
Sam pulled her hand away, giving him a reprieve from the torture. He glanced sideways at her slightly flushed smiling face.
"Yer even lovelier when ya smile, darling" he said running a knuckle down her cheek. She felt her blush reach her hairline and had to fight the urge to hide her face in her hands.
"C'mon," he smiled nudging her gently out of the booth.
"Where are we going now?" she asked as she stepped aside so that he could join her. Instead of answering, Murphy pulled her a little off to the side near a jukebox. He took her right hand in his left and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against his body.
"Wait, I don't," Sam stuttered uncomfortable with the idea of prancing about in a crowded room.
"Oh hush, girl," he shushed her. "Besides ye don't have a choice. I got yer dance card." He let go of her hand long enough to pull the playing card he'd pulled from her face earlier and wave it in her face. He tucked the card back into his pocket, dancing her about the little open space.
Murphy leaned in close singing softly in her ear, "Six long months I spent in Dublin. Six long months doin nothing at all. Six long months I spent in Dublin, learnin to dance fer Lannigan's ball." He twirled her back, their hands intertwined. Sam laughed as they separated, and stepped back together. Murphy continued his serenade. When he pulled her back into his arms, Sam practically collapsed against him. She laid her cheek against his shoulder reveling in the sound of his deviously soft voice. Pulling her hand to his lips, he winked at her, noticing the sudden lack of strength in her knees. She thanked God when he half led, half carried her back to the booth. At least some of her dignity could remain relatively undamaged. She downed half of her drink in an effort to cool her overly warm body.
"Is it just me," she said, wiping her mouth of froth. "Or has Connor been away a long time."
Murphy chuckled softly, "Aye, it has been a while." She turned her head to the bar, unable to decipher his form in the mass of bodies that stood huddled together. Confusion contorted her features, playing particularly with her nose.
"Have they moved at all?" she asked, squinting at the crowd.
"Nope."
She turned to face Murphy again. His answers were too quick and way too calm. Mischief sprouted from the depths of his clear blue eyes, daring her to say something.
"What did you do?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in accusation.
"I didn't do anything beyond," he paused draining his beer. "Well, beyond encouraging a few friends to enjoy his company." Sam shook her head in amusement.
"You sir," she said wagging a finger at him. "Are very bad."
'Aye," he grinned, leaning in. "But ya love it."
Giggling at his devious tactics, Sam rose to her feet, and made her way to the bathroom. It was a single person bathroom, and to her delight, surprisingly clean. She shut the door behind her and planted both hands on either side of the sink. A small mirror hung above the sink, and she took a gander at her face. Her cheeks had rounded out a bit from the consistent source of food. Her skin was no longer a sickly pale, especially now after her exertion with Murphy. It was her eyes, however, that had shocked her the most. Once several months back, she had seen her reflection in a small fountain. Her eyes had been bleak and soulless. The brown faded into a pale murk of hopeless oblivion. Now, staring back at her, were two brightly shining brown orbs, as full of life as the earth beneath her feet. She smiled happily at her reflection, delighting in the reflection's genuinely happy face.
Sam turned on the faucet, splashing some water on her face. She was just reaching for a paper towel when a knock came at the door.
"Just a second," she called out, dabbing lightly at her damp skin. The knock came again more persistent this time. She rolled her eyes, debating on letting the pushy knocker pee themselves in the hall. When the knock came a third time, she gave in, figuring she didn't want to have to step in a puddle on the way out. Sam unlocked the door, but before she could pull the handle, it swung open. She squeaked jumping back so as to avoid a head on collision with heavy wooden door.
In stepped Connor, slightly flustered. He quickly shut the door behind him and locked it. She giggled into the back of her hand at how out of breath he seemed.
"You ok?" she asked from behind her hand. He rested the back of his head against the door and took a breath.
"I'm gonna kill him," he muttered, tilting his head to look at her. His aggravation sent her giggles into hysterics. Connor glared at her, while she choked on her uncontrollable laughter. Sam reached out and cupped his cheek, stroking the stubble with her thumb.
"Aw," she cooed. "It's ok." Her patronizing tone, not lost on him, he nipped the inside of her wrist with inside of her wrist with his teeth. Her giggles, along with her breath, stole away from her lungs. He grabbed her waist and planted her roughly between his own body and the door.
"Ye go makin me feel as if I insulted ya," Connor whispered in between kisses. "Make me chase after ya." He tugged the hem of her shirt up over her head, tossing it onto the paper towel dispenser.
"Then," he murmured while nibbling her ear lobe. "ya tease me, knowin full well ye would pass out soon." His hands slipped into the cups of her bra, freeing her breasts from their confinements.
"And then," he exclaimed, before dragging his tongue over her left breast and sucking the nipple between his teeth. "Me treacherous, Judas of a brother goes and sicks everyone and their mother on me, to keep ya all to himself." His complaints were lost on her as he scrapped her nipple with his teeth. Sam arched her back as his hands roamed down her stomach over the top of her pants.
"So what do ya have to say for yerself, lass?" he asked, popping open her jeans and tugging them down her legs. She stared at him, crouched before her and sliding his hands up the insides of her thighs.
"You are sexy when you are mad," she gasped. He stared up at her, his eyebrows raised in mild contempt. Her panties soon followed her jeans in a bunch at her ankles. Connor stood sliding his hands back up the insides of her thighs until they reached her juncture, cupping the warm tender flesh. His middle finger stroked along the lengths of her folds, before sliding inside. Sam grabbed onto his shoulders as shivers of pleasure rippled through her exposed body. He wiggled his finger around inside of her, scraping his nails along her walls. She threw back her head in sweet agony, slamming it into the door.
His torture continued as he bent down before her and replaced his finger with his tongue. Sam bucked under his alternating licks and sucking. Her hands tucked into his hair while her hips rubbed against his mouth. He turned his dark lust filled blues up at her face, sending her soaring over the edge. She bit her lip as the orgasm roared through her. A sharp coppery tang coated her tongue as her lip bled a little from the strength of her teeth. Standing, Connor engulfed her lips with his own, kissing her into a blissful disorientation. Vaguely she heard the sounds of a belt unbuckling. A hard warm length slid against her body.
"Connor," his name barely made it past her lips, before he thrust into her body. Her back scraped against the door. The air filled with the warm wet slap of Connor's body slamming hard into hers. She reached over his shoulders covering her own mouth, feeling the scream build up in the back of her throat. He nestled his head into her neck, sinking his teeth into her neck. Her body exploded, sending stars into her eyes. Sam felt as though she were floating, only just coming down to feel him quiver inside of her. They slumped against the wall together, gasping for air.
"You are so much fun to tease."